Love is
by Resonae
Summary: "Love is not looking at each other, but looking in the same direction."- Antoine de Saint-Exupery. Clint goes blind, and Tony must cope. Told in Steve's 3rd person limited narrative.


i own nada

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The worst was the way the doctor delivered the news. Like as if Clint didn't matter, like as if Clint was normal and unspecial like the next person over, and Steve felt the urge to correct the doctor. _No, _he wanted to yell. He jerked forward with the immense need to explain to the doctor that Clint was special, that it was unacceptable that something like could this happen to him, and that the doctor had – he had no rights to crash their world around them.

It was Bruce who ushered him and the rest of the team to the room Clint was in, and Steve wanted to yell at Bruce too, because couldn't he understand? But he'd taken one look at Bruce, the way his shoulders sagged and eyes drooped, and knew he did. So he went along quietly, as did Natasha and Tony and Thor.

Clint looked small, on the bed, stripped of his usual black clothes and in the horrendously ugly hospital scrubs. He was bandaged all over the place, both legs and his shooting arm locked in a cast. Steve knew there was an ugly tear – and that was what it was, a tear and not a cut – that Steve could fit his arm through in Clint's stomach, under the hospital gown.

But the eyes. The hospital had wrapped bandages around them. Acute acid damage to the cornea, Steve remembered the doctor saying, casting him in permanent blackness. Steve clenched his teeth together to keep them from chattering as he walked numbly over to the bed.

Clint woke up few hours later, and telling Clint was possibly even worse than hearing the news. Clint took it quietly, asked a few questions and then asked them to leave. Clint was discharged back to the tower three days later, which didn't make sense because Clint had too many injuries for that.

But back in the tower, Clint kept cleanly away from everyone else. He was never in his room, and JARVIS often reported that Clint was climbing windows or crawling around vents, which Steve wanted to yell at him to stop but couldn't. How did one yell at a sharpshooter that was blind with three broken limbs?

There were three ways people dealt with their problems. The first kind drove all their anger and sorrow outward, projecting violence toward others. That was what most villains did, what most _people_ did. Bruce's anger manifested outward physically in the form of the Hulk, Natasha spent hours at the shooting range when she was angry, Thor left a path of destruction and Steve himself locked himself with the punching bag for days. And then there were people who dealt with their problems in alcohol and drugs, which they had a prime example in Tony.

And then there was the third kind, which Clint fell right into. The people who turned inward, started to destroy themselves from the core and refused all help. Clint had effectively built a wall around himself, burying himself deeper and deeper into his own shell.

"I need you to help me." Natasha was suddenly behind his punching back, leaning back on it and holding it easily despite his fierce punches. Sometimes he forgot how strong she was, how deceptive her petite stature was. But there was no deception about her strength now, the way she stood in front of him, eyes fierce, body straight. She was sure of what she was to do. And that was why he agreed without hesitation when she said, "I need you to help me make everything better."

They found Tony in his workshop, drunken beyond coherence. JARVIS let them in without a fuss, and Natasha grabbed the back of Tony's neck. Steve watched to make sure she didn't hurt him too badly. "Heyyy." Tony drawled when she sat him down on one of the chairs. "Look't who it is, JARVISSS." He had a bottle of whiskey – mostly gone – in his hands. "It's Cap and Nat." He giggled uncontrollably and swung another gulp into his lips. Most of it spilled down his shirt. "Wanna drink, Cap?"

"No thank you." Steve said politely. "Uh.. JARVIS, how long has he been like this?"

"_Ever since Agent Barton asked everyone to leave him._" JARVIS answered immediately.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, but Tony started to sob. Natasha froze. "I didn't do anything." She said, before Steve could say anything.

"Fuckin' Clint." Tony hiccupped, wailing loudly. "What the fuck are we gon' do about fucking _Clint_, Roma-Roma… Fuck, your name is too hard to say." He swung and crashed onto the floor. Steve lurched forward but Tony got up, swinging drunkenly. "He's gonna try to leave us, isn' he? He's gon' think he's all useless and shit even though that's not even fucking true." Tony crashed onto his desk, cheek on the metal, whiskey bottle clanging to the floor and spilling its contents. "How do I make him stay, huh? I try – I try to keep JARVIS on 'im but I don't even know and – how do I make him better and tell him how much I fucking care about him and shit?"

Oh. Steve's eyes widened and Natasha gave him a _duh_ look. "Get sober, Stark." She said roughly, kicking the bottle of whiskey away. "JARVIS, I want you to make all the alcohol in the tower inaccessible to Tony."

"_Yes ma'am_."

It was the first time Steve had seen JARVIS take any order against Tony. "Steve, can you help me haul this sorry excuse for a grown up into his room?" Steve ran up obediently to her side and hooked an arm under Tony's shoulders, easily lifting him up. He dragged Tony most of the way until they got to the large bed.

Tony slurred when Steve pushed him onto the bed. "I was going to fuck Clint on this." Tony mumbled, sighing. "Was gonna fuck him hard into the bed. Had all these fucking plans. Literally fucking plans."

Steve sighed. "That's information you can keep to yourself, Tony." A glance at Natasha told him she was highly amused. In moments he was asleep, and he looked back at her. "Now what?"

"Now." Natasha said, her amused expression wiping clear to make way for a stern one he saw when she was working challenging missions. "Now you help me corner Clint."

Steve didn't like clichés, but this was where _easier said than done_ matched perfectly. JARVIS gave both Natasha and Steve a tracker, but Natasha had warned him, gritting her teeth. "The only person in the world that I can't sneak up on is Clint. And the only person that can sneak up on me is Clint. This isn't going to be cakewalk, even if it's two of us and we know where he is. Not to mention his sense of hearing has to be incredible right now." She didn't add _blind _and _without the full use of three limbs_ to the mix, but the archer was proving decidedly elusive.

The red dot kept a firm distance away from both of them, and Steve could hear Natasha curse over the comms. At least, he assumed it was cursing. It was spoken in very rapid Russian, but it sounded a _lot_ like cursing. Steve quickened his pace and wondered if he could just ask Thor to crash the vents or get gas masks and ask JARVIS to run a sleeping gas through the system, but Natasha had pointed out that they didn't want to corner Clint more than he already felt like.

Steve didn't know how a 2-on-1 chase was much different until Natasha gave him another look. "Scared." She had clarified. "I don't want to scare him. Do you know what it's like, to be an assassin with that little mobility? Think about if you suddenly lost most of your Super Soldier serum abilities and went back to what you were before."

Steve had understood. He saw the red dot moving again and heard Natasha hiss. "_Run_." She snapped, and he did. Thankfully, at full speed he was faster than Clint crawling through the vents on only one good limb. He burst up into the vent and Clint froze and tried to turn, but Natasha was already on the other end. Clint froze, but Natasha spoke up softly. "Come down, Clint." She whispered. "Talk to us. Or at least eat something. You haven't eaten anything solid since you got back. Bruce is worried sick." Her voice was gentle, more so than Steve had known to be possible.

Clint crumbled under her coax. He let Steve encase him within strong arms and take him down onto the floor, and let Natasha call Bruce. "The vents are really wide and clean." Steve noticed as he climbed carefully down.

"Of course they are." Natasha snorted. "Tony had the entire vent system in the tower redone when he found out Clint liked crawling through them." Oh. Of course, Steve thought. He should have known. Bruce came hurtling down to the common area in record time, worry and concern etched into his face.

They found out Clint had messed his wrist up again hoisting himself into air vents, had reopened his stomach wound and unset his broken ribs. Natasha looked furious, but said nothing as Bruce redid Clint's bandages and reset the ribs. "Bedrest." Bruce said gently. "Please, Clint. And some liquids."

Clint sounded vulnerable, defeated. "Okay." He let Steve carry him back to bed because it was either that or crawl as he'd been doing.

"We're taking him to Tony's room." Natasha announced. Clint didn't look surprised, Bruce raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and Steve just obeyed quietly.

Tony hadn't moved from his spot where Steve had put him in, and Natasha tugged him to one side and Steve gently lowered Clint into the other side. Bruce tried to attach an IV to his arm, but Clint cringed away when he felt the tourniquet. "I don't – I don't want a catheter." He whispered, and Steve realized with a flinch what he meant. Clint couldn't go to the bathroom by himself, not with his broken legs.

"You won't need one." Bruce said firmly. "I've got a wheelchair for you. JARVIS and I looked up the best kind." Clint relaxed enough for Bruce to slide the IV needle inside his arm. "Is that why you haven't been eating?" Bruce said gently, taking out a bag. Clint didn't answer, but Bruce pressed a straw into the nutrient shake that Steve was well familiar with, and when Bruce pressed the straw to his lips, Clint drank about a quarter of the bag obediently before he pulled away. "Clint." Bruce started, but Clint shook his head.

"I'm going to vomit." Clint whispered. He felt around with his good hand for Tony, who didn't even stir when Clint's hand landed on his cheek. Clint seemed to relax exponentially and Bruce stayed until Clint's unseeing eyes fluttered shut in sleep.

Bruce set up vitals monitors for Clint, and Steve volunteered to stay. He had been reading by a light JARVIS provided when he heard a soft curse, but nothing else after that. He stood slowly and entered the bedroom area to find Tony on one arm, stroking Clint's sleeping face with the other, his eyes focused entirely on Clint. Steve cleared his throat and Tony nodded to acknowledge him, but did not take his gaze off Clint or stop what he was doing. "You guys got him down." Tony whispered softly.

Steve wondered if he should leave, but Tony looked up as he was about to leave and beckoned him forward. "He messed his wrists and ribs up again." Steve said softly. "Bruce redid them." Tony nodded and motioned for him to continue, but Steve had nothing else to say. "Natasha and I chased him down."

Tony nodded and he buried his face in his hands, rubbing his face with his dry hands. "How do I do this?" He sounded unsure, which was something Steve had learned Tony made a point never to be. "We were doing fine, you know. Dancing around each other for a bit longer than normal, yeah, but we were getting there. And then… And then of course something like this would happen. The day he came back, he came to find me and told me he was sorry for being useless and that he was happy for what we used to have, but he understood that he was a liability now. He _thanked_ me for 'letting' him stay in the tower." Tony was crying, and Steve tactfully pretended he didn't know. "And then he was – he was gone, you know. Up the vents. Fuck, I tried to go after him, but he's an elusive motherfucker in there. He was blind, couldn't use three limbs properly and I had JARVIS tracking him and I still couldn't do it."

Steve made a noise of agreement. He'd felt that firsthand today. He doubted anyone could go after Clint in the vents, even as handicapped he was currently. "So what happened?"

"I went after him for a while, and had JARVIS keep asking him to stay where he was, for me to talk to him, but he kept running. And then I figured it was _not_ going to be good to have him keep moving while he was that severely injured, so I… stopped."

"And started drinking."

Tony's laugh was wet. "Yeah. After I told JARVIS to keep track of Clint, make sure he doesn't jump off the tower or try to leave or something. Fuck. _Fuck_." Tony wiped angrily at his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. "Fuck." He repeated.

Steve stood. "You've got him now." He said softly. "Don't mess it up."

Later, Steve found himself squatting next to Natasha and a small handheld screen she was holding. "We shouldn't be doing this." Steve sighed. "This violates their privacy."

"Shh." Natasha hushed. She turned the volume up. Steve had the idea that if JARVIS wanted, he could stop them, but JARVIS was staying quiet. Natasha held the screen so Steve could see it. Clint was sitting on the edge of the bed, entire body stiff. Steve could see from experience that Clint wanted to run, wanted to bolt, but he couldn't.

Wasn't, he corrected himself, reminding himself that Clint had been able to outmaneuver both him and Natasha for two hours. Also, he could see Tony's hand, clinging tightly onto Clint's good arm.

[Clint.] Tony sounded shaky, but not broken. He looked unsure but not hesitant. He knew what he wanted to do, just didn't know how to do it. [Stay.]

It was Clint who sounded shaky, broken, unsure and hesitant. Clint's head was turned away from what Steve could see, but Steve was fairly certain he was crying. [Tony.] The single word was the only thing he said, but Tony gripped harder.

[Stay.] Tony whispered. [Stay, Clint. Stay.]

Steve reached over to Natasha's screen and snapped it in half without thinking. She didn't even look surprised. "It was an intimate moment." He explained anyway. "I don't think we should be looking." Natasha only nodded. She looked a little dazed, and he had no doubts that she felt the same way he did – like they'd walked in on something that was so much more intimate than something like sex. He cleared his throat. "Do you think he stayed?"

Natasha shrugged. "I don't think he would have been able to push Tony away in his state." She pointed out, but when Steve frowned lightly, she rolled her eyes. "He stayed, Steve. He needs Tony right now, and he's selfish enough to take what he wants when it's offered."

"I don't like the word selfish."

"Well, Clint is the least selfish person I've met." Natasha's fierce eyes bore straight into his, daring him to challenge her even though he wouldn't. "He put his entire reputation and life on the line to save my life, and that's infinitely more than what anyone else can say. It's okay for Clint to be a bit selfish from time to time."

Steve didn't know why, but he found himself back at Tony's room. The door slid open without him doing anything, so he entered to find Clint sleeping – or maybe he was pretending, Steve didn't know – and Tony on a nearby workbench, discussing something with Bruce. "Hey." Bruce greeted quietly. "Come in."

Tony looked tired, but like he'd had a load off of his shoulders. "We talked." Tony explained. "Well, I talked. He listened." He flinched. "He cried, but…" Tony glanced over at Clint and smiled. "I think we're good."

Steve nodded and walked over to the workbench. "What's all this?"

"Attempts." Bruce explained as Tony walked back over to the bed. He sat down and bent low to whisper into Clint's ear. With Steve's hearing, he could just make out the conversation over Bruce's explanation of how they were trying to fix Clint's sight.

"Up?"

"Mm."

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"..No."

"Good. Need anything?"

"I need more sleep."

The conversation was strangely domestic, and incredibly heartfelt. Tony was the picture of gentle, cradling Clint's broken hand and stooping low so Clint could talk to him easily. Clint no longer had the tense body language. He was relaxed, at ease, and fully trusting.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Steve." He whispered, and Steve's attention snapped back to him. Bruce looked amused. "Tony works wonders, doesn't he?" Wonders, Steve though, was too small of a word, his eyes slipping back to where the archer and the billionaire were soaked in each other's presence.

In the course of the following weeks, Steve observed. As a third party, he never had the full view, but he saw certain things. Clint and Tony had screaming matches sometimes. From what Steve could gather, it was on the subject of Clint's injuries, Clint yelling that he didn't want to be coddled and Tony screaming that he just wanted the best for Clint.

Most of the screaming matches ended up with Clint crying inside one of the vents, one of his bones getting offset, his stomach reopening, and with Tony drinking himself to oblivion.

The worst had been when Clint had started inflicting self-injury. Steve still remembered that day clearly.

"You can't do this, Clint." Bruce said, rewrapping Clint's wrist for the millionth time as Natasha gritted her teeth in pent-up anger nearby and as Steve dragged in a hung over Tony. "Your wrist is never going to heal properly."

"Fuck it all." Clint had said, voice heavy with tears. "I can't even shoot if I'm blind, might as well chop it all off." Clint had then yanked his wrist away from Bruce, snatched a medical scalpel and started sawing away at his wrist. They had all watched, horrified, until Thor jumped to action and gripped both arms in his hands. Bruce had dressed the jagged tears with shaky hands, and Tony and Clint had cried together, both clutching at each other and apologizing.

Clint had fallen asleep, exhausted from crying and the blood loss, and Thor had cradled Clint as Tony changed the blood stained sheets. "Stop it." Natasha rounded on Tony. "I trusted that you'd take care of Clint. I _trusted you _because I thought you would keep him from getting hurt, but…" She looked at the bloodied sheets Tony was stuffing into the trash chute. "This can't go on."

"It's not your choice." Tony hissed, breathing harshly. "All offense meant, Romanoff, but fuck the hell off. I know what's the best for Clint, not you."

Steve winced. "Tony, that's not fair. All of us-"

"Shut it. I don't want to hear it. What – what the fuck have you been doing? We'd fight, and he'd feel unwanted because none of you came to see him."

"We were giving the two of you room." Bruce tried to reason. "We thought you'd know for the best. We – you could have asked us to come." He was shaking, eyes flashing between green and brown. His eyes caught Steve's. "I.. I better step out." Steven nodded.

Tony rounded on him. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You – all of you just fucking run away and try to pretend there isn't a problem."

Steve caught Tony's arm. "Let him out, Tony. Tony, you're upset, I get it, but keeping Bruce nearby right now might not be the best thing." Tony turned on him and started to yell, and it was Thor who managed to get everyone's attention by cuffing a huge hand across the back of Tony's neck and knocking him unconscious.

Those were the bad days.

But as much as there were bad days, there were good ones. Not as often as the bad ones, but steadily increasing.

"Clint, you should be in bed." Bruce sounded exasperated. Clint stuck his tongue out in Bruce's direction, and Steve was still awed at how quickly Clint had learned to tell exact direction just by hearing. "Clint." Bruce's voice held had a gentle warning to it, but he was smiling as if he couldn't help it. "If you don't go to bed, I'll get Thor to come down here and carry you back. If Tony knew about this, he would _not_ be happy."

_This_ happened to be Clint rolling around in his wheelchair around the kitchen, cooking.

Cooking. Because Clint was sort of amazing in the way he could tell his way in the kitchen and measure out everything without looking at anything at all and have everything still taste amazing. His wrist was still bandaged, and looking at it gave Steve a painful pang in the heart, but he decided to ignore it in favor of watching Clint nervously, heart seizing for a second every time Clint used a knife or was near fire.

"God, that smells heavenly." Tony said, stumbling into the kitchen. "Clint, you shouldn't be up and about." He said, but looked nothing at all like he meant it. He was dressed in his usual formal attire when he attended meetings, and Steve knew he hated those with a passion. He looked tired, but his eyes focused solely on Clint, eyes gentle and loving and warm. When Clint put a plate of something that smelled delicious in front of Tony and then Bruce and Steve, Tony dug into it happily as Clint ran his good hand over Tony's suit and hair.

"You're wearing the hair gel that Pepper hates." Clint snickered. "And your maroon tie…" His hand slid down to Tony's shoulders, and he scowled. "You're wearing that god-awful gray suit again, aren't you?"

"What's wrong with my gray suit?" Tony said defensively. "It's Dior."

"It doesn't look good on you. You should wear that black Armani one. Or the black Dior. The black Dior one looks good. The black Dior sounds good, actually, with your maroon tie."

And Steve and Bruce merely watched in fascination as Clint proceeded to lecture Tony about what he should and should not be wearing. The next day, the pair found Clint dressing Tony. "See. That's how you should be dressed." Tony was dressed sharply, with a wine-colored tie and a deep, almost-black navy blue suit. He looked, for a lack of a better word, good.

And that was when Steve realized how much Clint loved Tony. Clint loved Tony so much that he'd memorized how all the clothes just by feel, and knew how to cook for and dress Tony for his best. So Steve stayed a step away. He was always ready to jump in if something ever happened, but screaming matches or not, Tony seemed to be doing fine on his own.

Of course, Steve should have figured all good things must come to an end. It happened when none of them expected it – when the Avengers were called on duty. "Barton." Coulson cleared his throat. "You aren't coming." Coulson said the words as if the sole existence of them

Clint had nodded, but he had looked so broken that Steve could hear him crawling back into the hole he had made for himself a few weeks ago. Tony reached out and gripped his hand, as if he could grab Clint from retreating, but it was too late.

Steve spent the mission thinking about Clint. The mission was botched to begin with – none of them could think of anything but Clint, and if it hadn't been for Natasha's sheer ability to focus, they would have all been dead. Neither Coulson nor Fury said anything to them as they trudged back.

They found Clint on the couch in the living room, staring into the broken flatscreen TV on the wall. Tony was nearby, face neutral. "What's going on?" Steve whispered, eyes wide and surveying the chaos of the common area.

"I made him pissed at me." Tony said, voice even.

"What?"

"I didn't want him to be pissed at himself. I managed to turn the anger outward." Tony nodded to the broken equipment in the living room. Shattered crystal vases, knives protruding from expensive paintings and broken pottery pieces made up most of the whirlwind in the living room, and Steve understood at once. Tony couldn't bear to see Clint hurting himself again, so he had managed to turn the anger outward.

But all the same, Clint cared too much about Tony to lash out at him – so he'd taken the indirect route, smashing pieces of furniture that were the most expensive. Steve had no doubts that Tony's bedroom had suffered worse, but Tony remained passive, almost… proud.

Bruce only sighed and approached Clint carefully. Clint let him check over his stomach wounds and mending bones, but winced away when Bruce tried to check his wrist. Bruce said nothing and the entire team held their breath as Bruce held his hand out patiently.

Clint let out a broken sob. "Tony." He whispered.

And if Steve didn't know better, he would have thought Tony had learned superspeed or teleportation, because he was at Clint's side immediately, cradling the bad arm and handing it over to Bruce before enfolding Clint in a protective embrace. Clint sobbed loudly as Bruce gently undid the bandages to reveal a freshly bleeding wound and twisted wrist. Bruce said nothing but soft, encouraging words as he reset the bone as gently as possible, redressed the wound and wrapped the bleeding limb with fresh bandages.

As soon as the medical needs were taken care of, Bruce retreated quietly. "I'm sorry." Clint whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'll clean it all up."

"Don't be ridiculous." Tony snorted, and Steve applauded the way his voice didn't shake. "JARVIS will take care of it. We could use a redecorating, anyway. We'll use a lot of purple this time." And Clint only cried into Tony's shoulder.

It wasn't long until Clint fell into a troubled sleep, exhausted from everything. "How'd the mission go?" Tony asked as the rest trailed half a step behind him. He cradled Clint to his chest, holding him as if he'd never let go.

Thor sighed. "It was a spectacular failure." Tony chuckled humorlessly as they all stepped into the bedroom – Steve had been correct in his assumption that it had suffered the worst – and, after a moment's hesitation, deposited Clint onto the side of the bed that was less mangled. "He performed quite a chaos, didn't he?"

"Never mess with an assassin, Thor. No matter how handicapped he is." Tony smiled ruefully, drawing a half-torn duvet over Clint. "And that's what he is, isn't he? Handicapped. How the fuck do we get through this? Every single fucking time we get called on for a mission, he's going to go through the same thing. How the hell do I do this?"

It was Natasha who broke the uncomfortable silence that followed it. "Love is not looking at each other, but looking in the same direction."

"Antoine de Saint-Exupery." Tony replied, bitter. "But you see, Natasha, he can't fucking _see_. We can't look at the same place if he's blind."

Natasha's voice was sharp. "That's not what I meant. You can't just lose yourself in one another. You two have too many faults for that. You need to look at the _same direction_. He's looking at you, desperate for you to make this better, and you're looking at him, desperate for him to get better. You need to be looking in the same place."

Tony stopped and stared. "Of course." He leapt and encased Natasha in a hug – who flinched. "Natasha, you're a genius. Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" He then rushed out of the mangled bedroom, leaving the rest of the team wide-eyed and confused.

Steve was the one who sat by Clint's side when he woke up. "Where's Tony?" Clint asked, sounding much like his good-day self.

"He ran out of the room a few hours ago with something akin to screaming 'Eureka.' I think he's in his lab." Steve hesitated, unsure if he should help Clint or not, but Clint hoisted himself easily into the wheelchair once Steve pointed him in the right direction. "JARVIS cleaned everything up." Steve said cautiously, when Clint hesitated in wheeling away. Clint nodded a short thanks and Steve followed him.

Tony was indeed in the lab, with Bruce. Bruce looked unsure of something, but Tony looked excited as he turned to face Clint. "Clint, you're going to be able to see again." Clint blinked in surprise. "I've got it. We're going to swap eyeballs."

"Wh-what?!"

"Not both, not both. I'll give you my left eye. We'll swap it for your left eye." Tony paced in an excited circle, and Steve watched, dumbfounded. "You won't be able to see out of your right eye, and I won't be able to see out of my left, but you'll be able to _see_. Natasha was a fucking genius. Why didn't I think of this before?!"

Clint's voice was low. "Natasha told you to do this?"

Tony stopped his excited pacing and turned to Clint. He hesitated for a moment, and his voice was soft when he spoke again. "No. Natasha told me a saying, and I don't think she meant it this way but it works. Clint, I… I thought you'd be excited to be able to see again."

Clint was staring at Tony's direction. It was an eerie stare that Steve could still not get used to, but Tony did not flinch under the unseeing gaze. "I don't… Tony, this is too much. You can't do this for me."

"But I can." Tony insisted, kneeling in front of Clint. "Clint, this… This isn't anything. Listen. I know you love me." He whispered softly. "I know you love me, and you know I love you. I don't mean this to be a chain to tie you to me. I'm doing it because I know how much you love me, and because of how much I love you. I want you to have this."

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. "W-what if it's – what if we don't – what if we don't last?" He said the sentence in a hushed whisper, body shaking. "What then?"

Tony gripped his hands firmly. "Then we'll be friends, we'll be teammates and we'll be family, and you can keep the eye."

"Plus, theoretically it's reversible." Bruce interrupted. "If we can do it once, we can do it again." This seemed to shake Clint out of his shock. He looked up at Bruce. "The surgery will involve swapping an entire eyeball, and then connecting nerves. If we can do it once, Clint, we can do it again. The procedure is reversible."

Tony snorted. "It is, but we won't reverse it. The moment you take it, it'll be yours."

"Okay." Clint whispered, touching his forehead to Tony's. "It really is reversible?"

Bruce smiled sadly. Tony looked unsatisfied, but said and did nothing. "I promise." Steve stood quietly, rooted to where he'd walked in, wondering what he'd just witnessed.

Bruce handpicked his own team of SHIELD surgeons for the operations. Fury obviously was satisfied with what was going on, and Clint made some comment about how he just wanted his sharpshooter back. Fury only smacked him across the back of the head, because everyone knew it wasn't true. Clint shook as Natasha helped him onto the operating table. "Hey." Tony whispered, gripping Clint's hand from his bed. "It's going to be okay. I promise."

Clint nodded, but did not stop shaking until the anesthetic slipped into his veins. Tony watched him until the last minute, keeping their hands tightly held together even as he fell into his own drugged sleep.

Steve paced the entire time. "It's a simple operation." Natasha told him, though she was doing her own pacing. "That's what Bruce said. He said it was going to be okay." And they trusted Bruce, right. Steve told himself over and over again how much they trusted Bruce's opinion, took it over any other doctor's.

It helped. A little, but it stopped Thor from flexing his fingers again and again around Mjolnir. Stopped Natasha from glaring at every nurse that passed by. Stopped Steve from pacing _too_ much.

Still, it was hours before Bruce stepped out. Steve took note of the wide grin when the surgical mask was taken off and slumped to the floor in relief. "Successful. We're going to have to keep tabs on Clint for a while, but nerves are attached well. Tony's already awake in there. He's been getting used to seeing only out of one eye, but he's okay, too."

Steve rushed inside and Tony waved in his general direction, but did not take his eyes off the sleeping archer. Clint had a bandage over one eye, as did Tony. "How is he?" Steve dared to ask.

"Good." Tony smiled. "The eye took well. Usually there'd be a lot of problems with blood matching and shit like that but… Bruce and I figured it all out. Give his eye a few days, maybe two or so weeks tops, and he'll be seeing out of it." He turned to Steve, and Steve hesitated. "I'm fine." Tony snickered. "You don't understand how happy I am right now."

He was right. Steve didn't understand. Not in the bad way, but Steve doubted he could ever understand the happiness that Tony could feel. He came down to sit near Tony and saw that Tony was still gripping Clint's hand. Clint was holding back just as desperately. "When we go back to the Tower, I'm going to replace the lights with dim, red ones. It'll look like a haunted house for a while, but it'll be easier on Clint's new eye." Tony was shaking with excitement, like a child gearing up to open his presents on Christmas. "You – you guys will be okay with it, right? It'll be just for maybe two weeks before he can ease onto real light."

Steve couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. That's.. That's more than fine."

He noticed how everyone was grinning on the ride back to the tower. Drapes were drawn, and JARVIS had already replaced all the lights with dim, red lights. Steve thought it looked more like a photo developing lab than a haunted house, and everyone took the new lights without a hitch.

Tony sat Clint down – who was still only half-awake – and gently knelt down in front of him. "Just for a minute." Tony's voice shook violently. "Just for a minute, and then we have to wait until the stiches heal up and your nerve endings get secure. But just for a minute."

Clint nodded, shaking just as much as Tony was and gripping tightly onto his arms. The others watched, holding their breath, and Tony gently undid the bandages around Clint's eye. Clint's hand shook visibly as the bandage came off to reveal Clint's closed eye, with neat cuts with stitches that would have to heal. Tony gripped his fingers together and whispered, "Okay. Okay, Clint."

Clint's teeth chattered. He hesitated, but he slowly opened his eyes. Steve's breath hitched. Clint's left eye was still a dull, washed-out blue, but the other was a sharp chocolate brown. It was rimmed red, bloodshot, but Clint's eyes came to rest immediately on Tony, and he smiled wetly. "Oh, Tony." He whispered, laughing and crying. "You're wearing that god-awful purple shirt again."


End file.
